


absence makes the heart grow anxious

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4x06 coda, AOS S4, Angst, Coda, F/M, Suspense, anst, canon compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: "Jemma held her breath as dread began to creep in and wrap its cold hands around her bones. The next message began to play."-a 4x06 coda/4x07 open





	

Jemma returned to the base with her head high, her shoulders tense, and her eyes sharp. She was ready for a good old-fashioned fume. And a hot shower. And Fitz. She hadn’t even had her phone on her this morning when she’d been rudely interrupted; she hadn’t seen or heard hide or hair of Fitz all day. Who knows? Maybe she’d melt the second she saw him and he could just give her a backrub and all the sickening anti-Inhuman rhetoric that had been filling up her ears all day would disappear into background noise. Maybe the desire to smash and burn every last piece of evidence of the cure with her own two hands would stop seizing her fingers and maybe she’d stop grinding her teeth for a moment at the nerve, the _nerve of Mace to send her away like that –_

When she threw open the door to their bedroom to find it empty, Jemma sighed. Quickly, it turned into a snarl of frustration. It did nothing to cleanse the seething rage that had risen to the surface again. In fact, all of a sudden the continued absence of Fitz when he should have been here by now was even worse. What if he’d been worried? What if he’d been running around like a chicken with his head cut off all day because she’d been kidnapped _yet again…._ or what if he thought she was really mad? What if he thought she had been ignoring him on purpose? 

Her phone sat on the bedside table, silent and still, and Jemma felt her heart sink. She lowered herself onto the bed beside it and scrolled through the notifications listed on the lock screen. 

_Missed call: Fitz. Missed call: Fitz. Missed call: Fitz._

There were six of them.

Jemma sighed again and pulled up her voicemail. 

 _“Today,”_ announced the automated feminine voice of the machine. “ _Nine. Forty-Seven. A-M.”_

 _“Hey, Jemma, it’s me,”_ Fitz began. “ _I’m sorry about before. I know you’re stressing out. I didn’t mean to make it worse. Anyway, uh, I hope your test went okay. No news is good news, right?”_ He laughed uncertainly, and hung up. 

Jemma held her breath as dread began to creep in and wrap its cold hands around her bones. The next message began to play.

_“Today. Ten. Thirty-nine. AM.”_

_“Hi. Uh. Me again, obviously. Look, me and the team are going to Momentum, we should be back tonight. We’ll have dinner together, okay? I mean, if you want. If you’re not still mad at me. Are you still mad at me? Is that why you’re not calling me back? Nah, you’re probably busy. I should leave you to it then. Call me when you can?”_

Her finger hesitated over the tiny image of the phone. She should call him. Put him out of his misery. But there were four messages left.

_“Today. Eleven. Twenty-three. AM.”_

_“Still not there. Okay.”_ He sucked in air through his teeth. _“Look, Jemma, please call me. I know it’s ridiculous but just – please.”_

_“Today. Twelve. Oh-one. PM.”_

A sigh. _“Love you.”_

Jemma bit her lip.

_“Today. Twelve. Seventeen. PM.”_

_“Jemma, I’m going crazy here. Nobody knows where you are. If you want some space just tell me please it’s – it’s not funny anymore, or whatever it was, I’m starting to freak out a little okay and –“_ He hushed his voice, as if someone had just walked into the room. “ _I’m sorry. Just. Please get back to me.”_

Jemma’s finger moved to the phone icon again. The desperation in his voice was almost unbearable. But there was only one message left. What if he’d been delayed? What if he’d decided to give her some space for the night? What if they were going off grid for a few hours for some reason, or going where signal was weak, and calling him would be pointless, or might even endanger them?

So she waited.

_“Today. Twelve. Twenty-two. PM.”_

_“Hey, Jemma. Sorry about that little freak-out before. I’m fine, just a little…. Stressed out.”_ The way he fought to control his voice suggested to Jemma it was more than ‘a little,’ but overall his tone was brighter than before. It settled her heart a little, except that the next – and last – thing he said was: 

 _“So tonight… I was thinking spaghetti bolognese?_  

Spaghetti bolognese.

_Spaghetti bolognese?_

One minute he was calling her, on the verge of panic, and the next, he was making dinner plans?

Okay, well, it was two hours later, but still.

She should call him. Right now. 

With a lump in her throat so big she wondered if she’d actually be able to speak once he picked up, Jemma hit the redial button and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

“Oh, very funny, Fitz,” she hissed bitterly as the phone approached its fifth ring. Fitz still did not pick up. Nor at seven. Nor at eight. 

By the ninth ring, Jemma was tempted to bite at the side of her nail. She scolded herself and sat on her hand just when the ringing finally stopped. Holding her breath, she opened her mouth, waiting for the words to come, but instead of Fitz’ voice on the other end, it was the machine. 

_“The number you have dialled. Is disconnected. Please check the number. And try again.”_

The phrase repeated. Methodical. Calm. Cheerful, even. It repeated over and over, like a measure of time, as Jemma’s eyes drifted to the digital clock on the dresser. 

6:07PM

The last message from Fitz had been nearly four hours ago. And he was stressed. And they were fighting. And he’d been planning to make dinner.

Jemma had never been one to jump to conclusions, but she knew in her heart in that moment that something was wrong. The knowledge of it – unavoidable, yet frustratingly elusive of proof – rang in her ears like that metallic voice. 

_“…Please check the number, and try again.”_

And then, before she could catch her breath and reset, the phone in her hand began to ring. She answered it, not entirely paying attention until she recognised the voice as Daisy’s, and the words coming out of her mouth as: 

“Hi. Jemma. I’ve…got some bad news. It’s about Fitz.”


End file.
